


Would You Stay?

by ChrysantheC



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Living Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrysantheC/pseuds/ChrysantheC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy returned home only to find himself with a new flatmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Would You Stay?

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** A few crack!humour perhaps?
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, none of the characters are mine.
> 
>  **Author's Note and Disclaimer No.2:** This story is adapted from a Japanese yaoi manga named 'そこに座るな‘(Soko Ni Suwaru Na) by 麻生海(Kai Asou), I played around with it with a Drarry twist.

“Blaise, I am home!” 

The sound of the door opening and the voice that flowed in with it made Harry look up from the mid of his tidying-up activity.

The somewhat familiar features on that pointy face with that trademark platinum-blond hair told Harry all he needed to know about the man’s identity. Not that he didn’t know who it would be, though, Zabini did tell him that the blond was scheduled to return today.

Draco Malfoy has came back from his vacation from wherever he had indulged himself to.

“Welcome back.” He nodded in acknowledgement and offered a slight smile while Malfoy stared at him, apparently in shock, and seemed lost, too.

“ _Potter?_ ” Malfoy blinked at him, and blinked some more, and then backed away out to the corridor again and narrowed his eyes at the number pinned on the door. After having confirmed of the fact that he was indeed in the right place, Malfoy came back in and sneered at Harry, ready to mock him about not knowing where his own doghouse is.

“What are you doing in my flat?” He scoffed.

*

“So according to Zabini, he had to move out on short notice because his mother had suddenly decided to go back to Italy for Merlin-knows-what and demanded that he was to go with her to stay. I was looking for a place to stay - Grimmauld Place was too spacious with only me and Kreacher, it gets awfully quiet sometimes - and apparently Hermione told him about my situation and he came to me and offered me to take his place since the tenancy contract still have quite a long way to go.” Harry peered at Malfoy warily as he explained how he had ended up here. Malfoy’s face was really pale, paler than his usual complexion, and Harry was worried if Malfoy’s going to burst into a panic attack. “He told me he will inform you of the change, so you won’t be surprised like you just did when you came back. Though judging by your reaction, I supposed he hasn’t told you about this?” He added carefully. The answer was obviously obvious.

They were sitting on the couch after Malfoy had gotten over his initial shock at seeing Harry in his territory, and got calmed enough to listen to Harry’s explanation. Malfoy bowed his head and stared at his hands which rested on his lap, silence was the only response Harry had got in return for the next few moments.

When minutes had passed and Malfoy still wasn’t saying anything, and Harry was getting nervous himself as well, he decided to try again. Tentatively, and as quietly as he could, because somehow he felt that being loud at this moment won’t do them any good, he asked. “You might want to Floo him and check with him, maybe?”

Harry had always thought Zabini’s sudden leave was unreasonable in every way possible. But it wasn’t Harry’s place to comment on what Zabini’s doing and why, so he kept silence, and waited, again.

Malfoy shifted in his place and shook his head slowly, looked up at Harry but still not saying anything, all of a sudden looking like he’d lost something he treasured and was too tired to even cry or scream. And then he looked down again, and finally opened his mouth to reply, though he didn’t sound right. In fact, he sounded nothing like when he showed up at the door only mere minutes ago.

“No, it’s okay. I was- I was just surprised. Blaise would have his reasons for leaving, anyway. He must be busy arranging things with his mother and probably just forgot to tell me, that’s all.” His voice was barely audible, but Harry was sitting close enough to still be able to catch them. 

And those words sounded so heartbroken that Harry almost felt sorry for him.

He could only nod. “Erm, okay then. If you say so.”

They fell into silence once more, and it was even more awkward than the previous one because now Harry really had no idea what to say anymore. Luckily this time Malfoy chose to ease his burden.

“Thanks for letting me know, Potter. I appreciate it. And I think I owe you a welcome, too. So, welcome.” Malfoy finished lamely. He stared at Harry and Harry stared right back, but before he could say anything, Malfoy cut him off and continued. “I think I’ll retreat back into my room and get some rest now.” He said.

Harry blinked, not expecting the abrupt ending of their conversation. He’d thought he might need to offer Malfoy some comfort and was even preparing himself for it, but he’s smart enough to take the hint, and accepted it. “Okay.”

Malfoy gave him a curt nod and rose in silence, excused himself with a murmured word that was now too quiet and too far for Harry to catch, and turned and headed for his room.

“Wait.” 

Harry didn’t know what made him stopped Malfoy for, but he did. And when Malfoy turned back around, looking at him expressionlessly, Harry was lost to what he should say.

“Ah, can I put my things anywhere I can fit them in, for the moment?” 

“Yes. Do whatever you like. I’ll see you later.” And with that, Malfoy turned and disappeared into his room.

Harry sat there for a little longer, before he actually remembered that he had things to do and restarted his tidying. All the while his thoughts were occupied by this Malfoy who seemed to be nothing like his old self, and Harry wondered if he knew Malfoy at all.

_Maybe he’s changed._

_Then again, what the hell was up with Zabini, anyway?_

*

It took Harry the whole day afterwards to do his packing and cleaning, and Malfoy did not reappear for the rest of the day. When he was finally done, it was almost midnight. 

He dropped the last box into a corner, stacked up with other boxes and cardboards, and wiped the sweats gathered around his eyebrows. He decided to take a shower and call it a night and had just proceeded to do that when the door to Malfoy’s bedroom opened and the blond stuck his head out, his grey gaze traveled around the room and then looked up at him. Harry stared expectantly back, and cocked an eyebrow in question.

“Hey, do we have any alcohol available? Anything, as long as it’s not butterbeer.” Malfoy asked.

Harry didn’t reply, instead he made a beeline towards the fridge - his, of course. It wouldn’t hurt to have some handy Muggle technology around - and Draco came out of his room fully to trail behind Harry. He stared at the tall device in wonder as he watched Harry produced two cans of some sort of drinks from it and handed one to him.

“It’s canned cocktail. The alcohol’s low, but it still contains some, and I’ve only just moved in, and it’s late, so you’ll just have to go with what we do have for now.” Harry explained to the blond when he saw Malfoy was peering at the can curiously.

Harry opened his and took a long swig, his thirst coming at full force after his tiring workout. When he looked again, he found that Malfoy was still staring at the can and it took him a moment to realise that that Malfoy don’t know how to open a can. So he put his down on the nearby kitchen bar, and grabbed Malfoy’s, opened it up, and handed it back to him. 

“Did I wake you?” He asked as he watched Malfoy took a careful sip from the opening.

Malfoy shook his head after another sip, this time longer than the last one. Apparently he liked the taste. “No, you didn’t.” And then he turned around to inspect the drawing room more thoroughly.

Harry was drinking the last of his cocktail when Malfoy commented again. He turned to Malfoy when the blond called his name.

Malfoy pointed at a corner in the drawing room, and Harry looked closer to find that he was indicating the couch.

“The couch should be put over there.”

“Where?”

“Under the window.”

“Ah. ...We’re moving it now?” Harry asked uncertainly.

“Now.” Came the firm reply.

*

After a few lightening charms and troublesome settling charms due to Malfoy’s insistence, who was so precise - or fussy, as Harry put it in his head and was sure that was the real case - that the measurements of the spot where the couch should stand was narrowed down to millimetres. 

Harry then went to take his shower and Malfoy was left slumped on the couch drinking his new found favourite beverage.

Ten minutes or so later Harry came out to find Malfoy still sipping his drink and was fiddling with the television set sitting next to him that Harry had brought with him, a crease deep between his delicate pale brows.

“You brought all these Muggle contraptions with you. I don’t know what you’re trying to do to my flat, but I will not allow any more Muggle stuff in this place. Fascinating as they probably are, I think they’re quite frustrating as well.” He tsked and stopped harassing the buttons on the TV, slapped it in irritation before he flopped back onto the couch with a huff. “This thing doesn’t even _do_ anything. I think it’s broken. I don’t know why you brought all these rubbish with you here, anyway.” 

Harry was drying his hair with a towel while he watched Malfoy’s melodramatics in amusement, and rolled his eyes at the comment. He threw the towel into the basket for dirty clothes back in the bathroom, and came forwards to sit himself on the couch next to the blond. “It’s not broken. It’s not working, because it’s not plugged in yet.”

Malfoy’s expression at that moment told Harry that he had not idea what he was talking about and probably was wondering what the hell ‘plugged in’ meant. Harry suspected that the man probably came to the wrong conclusion as his eyes widened and started to stare at him as though Harry had just gone mental.

“And anyway, this place will be _my_ flat as well from this day onwards.” Harry added promptly, just so Malfoy won’t have the chance to say something that Harry was sure he didn’t want to know about.

Malfoy rolled his eyes in turn and scoffed in mock irritation. “Yes, yes. Lucky me.”

Harry grinned at him, and Malfoy rolled his eyes again.

They settled into a peaceful silence, both relaxing after the long day that each of them had.

Then Harry can’t seem to hold it in anymore, so he blurted, “You don’t seem to mind that your flatmate is not your old mate anymore, not to mention the fact that that flatmate being _me._ ” 

Malfoy was just about to take another sip and he stopped mid-action at Harry’s words. He glanced sideways at Harry.

“But then again, I supposed that’s normal too. It’s not like your partner who lived with you suddenly ran from you... I’ve always thought that Zabini’s a little bit strange in the head.” Harry shrugged in reply.

Malfoy looked the other way. And Harry suddenly become alarmed, and curious. 

_What’s this?_

Harry was suddenly unsure of himself, wary whether if he had crossed the invisible borderline that had kept them civil, and hurried to offer an apology. “I am sorry. I was only joking. I didn’t know-”

And then Malfoy started laughing, “Merlin, Potter, relax. _I_ was joking.”

His laughter sounded off, and Harry took a mental note of it, and did as he was told. He laughed with him.

“I didn’t know you cared so much, Potter.” Malfoy said once he’d stopped that fake laughter of his, and smirked at Harry. “Thank you, though.” And this time, Malfoy actually smiled.

And then his expression darkened again. “But honestly! I can’t believe he just ditched me like this!” 

Malfoy turned to Harry again, and Harry was feeling a little bit overwhelmed by the other man’s rapid change of emotions. He blinked at him, and was about to say something to show his agreement, but Malfoy simply ignored him and went on again.

He leaned his elbows against one of the couch arms and laid down on his stomach, stretched out his legs and got himself comfortable, and took one gulp of his drink before he looked up at Harry, his slate eyes filled with wonder. “Speaking of which, I find it surprising - shocking, even - that you’d actually move in willingly to live here, knowing fully well that I’ll be sharing the same roof with you.”

“Zabini had told me a few things about you.” 

And there it goes again. Malfoy’s expression went sober, as though Harry’s words carried some sort of physical influence on him, and he paused, took a sip again and asked, quietly, “...What did he say?”

“Er...” Harry hesitated.

“It’s okay,” Malfoy urged. “Out with it.”

There was another moment of pause, in which Harry contemplated whether if he really should tell Malfoy, and in the end he gave in to his honesty.

He cleared his throat. “He said... he said that you’re actually a very nice lad, that you’re not the once snobbish boy in Hogwarts anymore, that you’ve changed. That you’re really just a big softie inside.” 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? Did he say that?” And at Harry’s affirmative nod, Malfoy closed his eyes and drawled, reminding Harry of the Malfoy he used to know in his student life, just right after Harry had said he had changed. “Well, I supposed he would say that. I acted like that on purpose. It was all a pretense.”

Harry rolled his eyes mentally. _A pretense? Yeah right, such pretense. Indeed._

“You and Zabini were very close friends, if my memory is serving me correctly.”

“Oh yes, we were close since when we’re still in Hogwarts. Actually, he was the only one who was still willing to talk to me and take me in when the Ministry claimed the Manor and I was left with nowhere to go to.” Malfoy confessed. He then turned his head and rested his cheek on the back of one of his hands, glancing upwards at Harry, he returned the question. “What about you? How did you two got hooked up?”

“He works at the same department in the Ministry as Hermione does, and we, that is, Ron, Hermione and me, often go out to have a drink when none of us were busy. It seemed that Zabini got along fine with Hermione, and he came along with her out of curiosity when he first joined us, and then later he comes whenever he felt like it. We became some sort of almost-friends after a while...” Harry trailed off as he heard soft snores coming from where Malfoy was, and looked up to find that the blond had drifted away sometime during his speech, and was now deeply asleep.

 _I didn’t know that he’d let down his guard this easily. Or was it because he was so confident that he didn’t think I would do him any harm?_ Harry wondered. _Not that I would do that, but still. Perhaps he’s just really tired._

Harry got up carefully so not to disturb the sleeping man and reached to take the can that was still locked in Malfoy’s hand just as carefully. He slowly lifted the drink out of Malfoy’s grasp, and was surprised that there was still a whole half-full worth of contents in it.

_Malfoy’s lightweighted? Who would have thought?_

And Harry stood there next to Malfoy’s sleeping form, staring at the face that he had never once had the chance to look from this close up. The corner of his lips curled upwards even before he realised that he was smiling.

“I have a feeling that we could get along just fine, too, Malfoy.” He whispered to the sleeping blond, and himself.

*

Harry woke to the sound of sharp beeping noises coming from his wand, which he had set as an alarm with a mortified time spell that Hermione had taught him. He groped at his bedside table, took a hold of his wand and stopped the beeping sounds with a sleepy murmur of _Finite_ and put on his glasses. He waited for a moment to become more awake, and it was then had he noticed ruffling sounds coming from outside. 

Harry got out of the bed skeptically and walked out of his bedroom while still trying to rub the sleepiness from his eyes.

He walked into the doorway connecting the bedrooms with the drawing room, and was greeted by the crouched form of Malfoy in the far corner, his back towards him, his hands busily grabbing and chucking things into some container with rapid movements.

“Morning.” Harry greeted. Then he squinted at the other man. “What are you doing?”

“Classifying your rubbish.” Came the familiar Malfoy drawl. “Didn’t you see there were specific tags on these boxes? It is important that we be environmental-friendly, you know.” He sounded so serious that Harry almost failed to stifle his snort.

Malfoy turned and glared at him nevertheless. 

“The agent who’s in charge of this flat is unbelievably fussy and annoying with the issue of rubbish handling. Merlin knows why.” He added as an explanation.

“Sorry.” Harry mumbled.

 _And here I thought he was actually_ nice _for a change._

“Here, let me help you.” 

Malfoy waved a hand dismissively at him, his back once again turned towards him. 

“It’s okay. Go do your stuff. Just be thoughtful next time. Shoo.”

Harry made a noncommittal sound and turned to go and do his morning wash.

“Oh, and Potter,” Malfoy called.

Harry turned around, “Yeah?”

And there was it again. Malfoy was _smiling_ at him. “Thanks for the blanket.” He said.

Harry blinked. His sleep-fogged mind was slowing his understanding of the situation. He stared for a moment, and then seemed to have gained back his voice. 

“Erm, no problem.” He turned away again to continue on his way.

“Though it would be nice if said blanket was a bit more fluffier.” 

Harry stopped in his track, he resisted the urge to stomp back to Malfoy and punch that perfectly tall nose of his crooked. “Then I suggest next time you’d better go and sleep in your own bedroom.” And with this, he gave in to the temptation and stomped, quite loudly, into the bathroom.

*

Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror, wiping at his chin after he’d shaved as he got caught up with his mind, thinking about the situation that seemed - _definitely,_ if you ask him - complicated between Malfoy and Zabini.

_It seems that it won’t be a problem being flatmates with Malfoy. But I would still need to find some time and have a chat with Zabini._

That morning he went straight into his office when he arrived at the Ministry Atrium and Flooed the Department of International Magical Cooperation and asked to have a inter-deparmental Floo to get in contact with Blaise Zabini.

“I’m sorry, Auror Potter. But Mr. Zabini is out of reach at the moment. Would you like me to leave a message for him to get back to you the next time he contacts us?” The servicing clerk of the DIMC had told him.

“Oh. No, it’s fine. I’ll just try again some other time. Thanks.” 

_Bugger._

*

Harry Apparated home that night, his mind still occupied by his determination to find Zabini and trying to figure out what the fuck was going on with that guy. He was so deep in thoughts that he stood in front of his door and didn’t even remember that he was home and was supposed to go in, until he heard his name being called from above him had he snapped out of his trance and looked up to find it was indeed Malfoy who - Harry had no idea though - was calling his name and dragging out the vowels.

“Pooooooot-teeeeeer. Poooooooot-teeeeeeer.” Malfoy cooed at him and when he saw Harry glancing up, he stuck out his hand and waved at him.  
Harry couldn’t help himself but wonder if Malfoy had been stealing his fridge contents and was consuming on those cocktails that Harry seemed to have got him addicted on with just half a can and was now drunk. It was the only valid explanation for this odd display of non-Malfoy behaviour.

He hurried a few steps and opened the door, wanting to confirm his suspicion when he got in. But it seemed that today is really not a day that Merlin favoured him, because he’s meeting obstacles one after another on everything he did today. And the obstacle that prevented him from entering his own premises was -

“Welcome back home!” Three unfamiliar voices sang in unison at him.

Harry took a step back instinctively, his hand snapped automatically to his wand clasped within his robe sleeves as his Auror instincts kicked in. And then he took notice that the faces of those three people - all wearing confused looks - looked somewhat familiar too.

“Er... Thanks?” He managed.

And then Malfoy’s voice sounded in the entrance hall. “They were here to rob me of my souvenir, as well as sniffing around for free dinner. You’re just on time to join us.” 

Before Harry could answer though, one of the girls in that three-person group who had greeted him beat him to it.

“What the… are my eyes deceiving me? Potter! What’s Potter doing here, Draco? And where’s Blaise?”

Malfoy walked back to the drawing room and flung himself down onto the couch. He leaned back on the furniture and dangled his arm over its back.

“He moved out.” Malfoy huffed.

“WHAT?” The trio exclaimed.

“Since when?” The same girl, with short dark hair – Parkinson, who Harry recognised then, because no matter how much makeup she put on her face, that pug nose of hers was still as prominent as ever – asked incredulously. “How come we don’t know about this? He had never even mentioned a word!”

Malfoy gave a helpless chuckle, shaking his head. “Neither did I know anything about it until I got back home from my vacation, and Potter here told me what happened.”

“Nothing at all? Not even a ‘I’m off to somewhere, see you later’ note, or something like that?”

“Nope. When I came home, there was only Potter trudging about in my flat. And then somehow, I got stuck with him being my flatmate, instead of that cheeky git we were all so familiar with.” Draco spread his hands out, shrugged and rolled his eyes playfully at Harry.

Harry stood at the entrance to the drawing room and was shedding his cloak and his outer Auror robes while listening to their guests talking.

Parkinson scowled as if she was a wild cat being strangled to death. “I’m going to rip the balls off of him the next time I see him! If he dares to even come back! I could not believe him!”

The other girl with muddy-blond hair who Harry still couldn’t remember the name of spoke for the first time since Harry was ushered into the drawing room. “As a matter of fact, he was supposed to go with Dra-”

“Millie!” The boy called sharply.

Now Harry remembered. That was Millicent Bulstrode, the girl that followed around Parkinson often enough in Hogwarts that Harry had thought they were connected by the hips forever. She turned to the only boy in their group, her gaze softened at the boy’s subtle head shake, probably telling her not to say anything more about whatever she was going to say just then.

If it wasn’t for that observation skills for subtlety were covered in the Auror training program, Harry would never have noticed that slight gesture at all. And with what he had just witnessed, he was more certain than he was this morning that there was definitely something going on between Malfoy and Zabini.

He was brought back out of his reveries by Parkinson’s voice.

“At least he still had the brain to know that he had to bring someone in to share the rent. Knowing Blaise, this is already quite a feat.” She said, voice full of contempt.

“Why didn’t he just tell me to come and live with you, then?” Said the boy, addressing Malfoy.

“Theo, you live nearby!” Bulstrode pointed out.

 _Okay, although this is not my fault and it really had nothing to do with me, it’s getting more and more weird and_ awkward.

Harry had finished peeling his uniform and decided to say something to excuse himself and escape this scene as soon as possible.

But apparently This-Is-Not-Harry’s-Day had not come to an end yet, and he was snatched by the elbow and was yanked, quite vigorously as well, by Malfoy as the blond pulled him to his side.

Malfoy smirked at the trio sitting on the carpet floor in front of them. “Enough about Zabini. I believe some introductions are in order.” He gestured to Harry. “This is Harry Potter. Saviour of the Wizarding World. Vanquisher of the Dark Lord. And guess what? He’s my flatmate!”

Harry rolled his eyes. Parkinson and the others snickered.

Malfoy pointed to the boy. “Theodore Nott. Expert in Potions. Of course, only second to me, but he can have the title, just to show my generosity. His house is literally a lab in and by itself, just a few blocks away from here, that’s why I’ve chose this flat too. Because then I could trespass legally into his lab anytime I wanted.”

How do one trespass someone’s property legally, Harry would like to know. But certainly not from Malfoy. He nodded to Nott and received a curt one back in return.

“That’s Pansy, I think you’d recognise her by now, anyway. And Millicent. They own a bakery together just down Diagon Alley. Lovely pastries they have.” Malfoy informed in a tone that indicated he had tried - and failed - to hide his excitement at the mention of said type of food.

Harry and the girls exchanged the same polite but distant acknowledgement. And then the room went quiet.

Several awkward minutes passed by, no one seemed to know what to do or say to break the silence. Then Bulstrode suddenly pulled out a shrunk box from her robes pocket, and returned it to its original size with a flick of her wand.

Parkinson’s eyes brightened as she watched Bulstrode opened the box and the sweet scent of pastries flooded the room. Malfoy leaned forwards to peek into the box, and then he seemed to remember that Harry was present, and tried to make his posture more casual than it appeared to be, and failing, and in the end just gave up and dropped down to the floor and scooped closer to said box. 

“We brought some new tasty creations from our bakery. Thought we could share them around for snacks.” Bulstrode offered.

“Ah. Thanks.” Harry wasn’t sure what her expected response from him was, so he thought he might just go for the safest one.

“They’re acting all so generous only because they just wanted to get someone to try them out.” Said Nott.

“I wouldn’t mind.” Malfoy volunteered, and reached his hand into the box to grab a treat, as though he was trying to prove his point.

A slender hand came into view and slapped the pale hand away before it even had the chance to dig into the interior of the box, and Malfoy squeaked in an undignified manner and snatched his hand back to rub at the sore spot on the back of his hand, where Parkinson had hit not so gently at all and was now slowly blooming a patch of red. He glared at her, and she returned his glare.

“Not one piece for you before we had our dinner. Go and make that dish you promised you would make for Theo, and we can start eating. And _then_ you can have your dessert.” Pansy waved a hand dismissively at Malfoy, urging him to hurry up and get his arse in the kitchen. “Everyone’s hungry. Now shoo.”

Malfoy raised his hands up in surrender and backed away, sitting back on his heels. “All right, all right. I’ll go.” He stood up, and looked down at Nott. “Come, Theo. You ordered it, and you’re going to help me make it if you wanted any servings of it.” 

Harry watched as the two of them went into the kitchen and started to get themselves busy while the girls moved into the dining room and prepared the table.

Harry was left alone in the drawing room, not sure what he should do.

_I guess that means no tidying up today, then._

Voices flowed out from the kitchen as Malfoy and Nott talked quietly to each other as they worked, and Harry could not help but overhear some of the conversation.

“You sure you’re all right, Draco?” He heard Nott ask.

There was the clink and clunk of china colliding with each other as the men set up their workstation. And Harry heard Malfoy’s muffled reply amongst them.

“Stop worrying. I’m already aware that this day would come sooner or later, anyway.” 

Harry tried to listen on some more, and he didn’t even realise that he had been moving slowly towards the kitchen.

“Potter!” 

Parkinson’s sharp voice called out to him and Harry stopped abruptly in his track, realising that he’s eavesdropping where he shouldn’t and turned around to the other side facing the dining room, mentally smacking himself for being intruding. 

“Come on over here and help us put these to the plates!” When Harry didn’t reply in time, Parkinson yelled again.

Harry walked into the dining room and saw Parkinson and Bulstrode opening up more of those pastry boxes and placing the cakes and biscuits onto large plates. Parkinson beckoned him as she saw him, and shoved three boxes before he even had the time to protest.

“Here, Potter. Cut these cakes up and conjure stands to settle them on the table. You do know how to do that right?” She teased, when Harry was staring down at the sudden armful of sweets. “You use Cutting spells, just not the usual standard ones, you’ll cut the whole table up if it was that. Just about a tenth of the usual power will do.”

Harry blinked, and then nodded to Parkinson, who had already turned away from him and busied herself again. He levitated the cakes to settle on chairs, as the table space had already been taken up by various other desserts and utensils. While he worked, he could not help himself but kept on thinking back to what Bulstrode was going to say that was stopped by Nott. 

“What was that when you’re saying that Zabini was supposed to go with Malfoy? ”

The noises in the background was pulled to an abrupt stop, and it was then had Harry realised that he had said that out loud, which he did not intend to.

He turned around. “Erm, it’s okay, was just curious. You don’t have to tell me.” He said.

Parkinson and Bulstrode exchanged a look with each other. And then Parkinson turned to him, placing the tray she was holding down on the table. “Originally, we thought those two were going to somewhere together.”

Harry’s eyes widened an inch before he frowned. “Alone?”

“They were-” Pansy began.

“Pans! Are you sure we should be telling him about this?” Bulstrode cut in.

Parkinson shrugged. “Potter would hear something sooner or later anyway, it’s better if we explain the whole thing before he believes any bizarre rumours.” She came forwards and around Harry and took the prepared sliced cakes and back to where she was. “Those two were an item, anyway.”

“Malfoy and Zabini are _together?_ ” Harry asked incredulously.

 _Then again, I’ve already_ sort of _suspected that._

Hands on her hips, Parkinson huffed in exasperation. “Yes, that’s supposed to be the case. But Blaise has a girlfriend too. He’s bisexual, and to be honest, he likes women more.” And then she sighed. “I’ve tried to talk him out of it, told him to end this stupid thing with Blaise. But he won’t listen, said that he won’t mind if he has a girlfriend. Which is stupid, if you ask me.”

Parkinson babbled on about how Zabini was a jerk and that she knew this would happen all along while Bulstrode tried to calm her down and change the subject of their conversation before the dining room got turned into a battlefield under Parkinson’s on-building rage.

And that left Harry on his own to his thoughts. He retreated to the corner and levitated cutlery and napkins to the table mechanically while his mind drifted to the blond in the next room.

 _I’ll wait until I’ve got a hold of Zabini and fully understood whatever’s going on before I tell him anything about the man._ Harry decided.

*

Dinner was a pleasant treat and Potter was surprised to find that those Slytherins were not what he had thought they were during Hogwarts. Okay, so they are quite sneaky and cunning but they were also very protective of the ones they see as friends. Like what Parkinson had showed before they started dinner.

He and Malfoy were cleaning the dishes at the moment, and Malfoy was being unusually quiet. And Harry’s tongue itched with the ache of wanting to say something.

They were in that awkward silence again.

Harry dried the washed dishes with the tea towel and opened the cupboard above his head to put them back in place. 

“The ones you’re about to put in there now, were supposed to go _there._ ” Said Malfoy, and Harry jumped at the sound of his voice. Malfoy didn’t seem to notice, though, he pointed to various places, while directing Harry about where each and every other dish should belong in. “The cups and glasses goes there, and the large plates are down here. The bowls in that corner and the cutlery goes in this drawer.” He pulled out said drawer to indicate the _exact_ place where knives should be kept.

Harry had stopped his movements from the moment Malfoy’s voice sounded, and he blinked blankly at the handful of saucers he was holding for a moment. “Ah, right.” He went to where Malfoy had said, and stuffed the saucers in. “I might put my kitchenwares while I’m at it, as well.” He said, though it was intended to be a question.

“Sure.” 

Silence drowned on them yet again as Harry put all the dishes into their respective places. There’s a nagging in his heart that was nearly bursting that made him just wanted to expose it, but he don’t know how. He was so very curious, and, he had to admit to himself, somewhat worried about Malfoy with the situation that was going on between the blond and Zabini.

Malfoy’s comment of, “This will be the last one.” gave him the opening to start the conversation about his subject of interest.

Malfoy was drying the tray of which he claimed was the last to be washed and put away, and Harry nodded in response to show that he’d heard what he had said. Then, “You don’t seem like the Malfoy I knew before who’s had house-elves to do everything for him.” He said.

Malfoy just glanced at him sideways, his hands never ceased their working. He waited until he put away the tray before he, in a light tone, as though he was joking with Harry, answered. “Well, when one could no longer have such privilege, one is forced to learn to do things on their own. And before you ask,” he turned around and leaned his elbows on the sink counter. “I do things manually when it comes to cleaning appliances because as slow as Muggles are, their ways of cleaning made sure that no bacteria or any worrisome things, whatever they may be, get stuck on the equipments and then goes into our body.” 

“Parkinson told me about you and Zabini. She said that you were lovers.” He ventured.

Malfoy turned sharply to him, his eyes widened and vulnerable for a split second before he regained his coolness and plastered a mask of nonchalance on his face.  
When Malfoy said nothing and just simply stared at him, Harry felt uncertain about his decision on this matter. To be honest, it’s none of his business whether or not Malfoy and Zabini were involved.

“Just thought I should tell you since I knew about it...” He began.

“It’s fine. It’s not like it’s a secret or anything.” He turned around fully and faced Harry. “What about you, then? Don’t you find it disgusting living with a homosexual?”

“Of course not!” Harry hurried to reassure him. “I know a couple of guys who are gay. Charlie Weasley is one.”

Malfoy nodded. And then he chuckled, raising his hand to brush his hair back from his eyes and shaking his head. “Now you know I’ve been dumped. How embarrassing.”

“I don’t-”

“I know that he have a girlfriend, knew it for quite a long time, in fact.” Malfoy lowered his head and stared at his feet. “Even the fact that in the end he would choose women over me. It’s just that... I didn’t expect it to be this soon.”

“Don’t you feel upset? Feel like you wanted to cry for the unfairness of it all?” 

Malfoy looked up and stared at him for a moment. “Malfoys do not cry.” 

Harry rolled his eyes at the reply. He was about to retort when he noticed that Malfoy’s features and eyes softened, and Harry stopped himself in time to hear Malfoy’s murmured words--

“If crying could bring him back to me, then I might consider give it a go.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat without warning and he found himself somehow became unable to breath at the confession. He felt like as if he had accidently stepped into a territory that belonged to Malfoy and Malfoy alone where he had no right to be.

He swallowed hard to overcome the sudden ache he felt in his chest, and strangled the odd impulse of wanting to hug Malfoy.

_It’s because of his face. He just suddenly looked so wistful and... human._

“But enough of this. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. And if you thought you needed to coddle me, you probably want to think again.” He pushed himself away from the counter, brushed imaginary dust off from his trousers, and clapped Harry on the shoulder. “But thank you, for the concern. I’m done for today, good night.” 

“Good night.” Harry said, because there was nothing else he could really say, and watched as Malfoy walked out of the kitchen, crossed the drawing room and disappeared behind the closed door of his bedroom.

_He probably figured that I’m asking these questions just to satisfy my curiosity._

Harry then arranged space in the kitchen for his own utensils, and went to tuck himself in for the night, too.

He lay on the bed with his hands folded under his head, staring at the ceiling in the darkness of his bedroom, thinking over about his conversation with Malfoy.

 _If crying could bring him back to me..._ Malfoy’s voice resurfaced in his mind, and Harry himself sighing at that tone, wondering if Malfoy was as awake in the other room as he was, as well. 

The difference was, Malfoy was probably thinking about Zabini, while Harry’s thinking about Malfoy.

Worst of all, he didn’t even know why.

*

“Good morning.” 

Next morning Harry found Malfoy in the drawing room, sitting on the floor, waiting for him. Again. Though this time he was facing him.

“Morning.” He returned, and then turned wary. “What’s up today? I messed up with Waste Classification again?” 

Malfoy looked at him as if he had suddenly grown another head, and rolled his eyes. “No, not that. But did you think I would make a mistake on such a thing as little as that? No.” He turned around to fetch something, and Harry took his chance and rolled _his_ eyes at Malfoy’s back. Malfoy and his melodramatics, Merlin.

Malfoy turned back, a huge plastic bag grasped in his right hand. He shoved the bag towards Harry. “Today is Neighbourhood’s Exchange of Recyclable Items Day of the month. This is what I’ve packed for us, I need you to carry this and dump it at the Exchanging Point just around the corner of our street. There’ll be a sign there if you ever lost your way.” He gave the bag a little shake, gesturing for Harry to hurry it up and accept the thing.

Harry stared at Malfoy incredulously, torn between amusement and exasperation. He ignored Malfoy’s yet again insistent push at him, as well as the frown that was now slowly forming on his smooth forehead.

“Potter? Did you hear what I’ve just said?” 

“You woke up so bloody early, why don’t you take it out yourself?”

Malfoy lowered the large plastic bundle, and this time it was him who was staring at Harry incredulously. “Are you kidding me? I’m not carrying this out. Malfoys don’t do labour.”

_Who just claimed last night that one had to learn to do things by themselves under inevitable circumstances?_

“Well you could simply drop it there on your way to work.” Harry suggested.

“Malfoys don’t need to work.”

“What - oh fine! Just leave it in the entrance hall then, I’ll take it when _I_ leave for work!”

Malfoy smiled then. This is the third time that Malfoy had smiled at him in the two and a half day since they started living together. Damn that smile. Damn him. 

“I knew you will see it my way. It’s a common trait of families that one’s significant other does the housekeeping works, anyway. Congratulations, Potter. Ten points to you for being well on your way of becoming a satisfactory husband.” 

“Hey! What was that supposed to mean!” Harry protested, but Malfoy was already out taking the bag to the entrance hall, and therefore missed Harry’s bemused complaint.

Malfoy came back in a moment later, heading towards the dining table for breakfast. Harry finished his morning routines and went to the table and took a seat, as well.

He picked up his cutlery and was about to dig into his breakfast - which was last night’s leftovers - when Malfoy started talking again.

“Say, that laundry Muggle contraption was a wonder! Although it took me awhile to get how it works - too many bloody buttons, Muggles really are slow. I’d just give my wand a swish and have it all done in one go - but I got it working anyway.” Malfoy took a bite of his food and swallowed it before he went on, Harry was looking at him, lost. “Anyway, my point is, I’ve washed your clothes along with mine.”

Harry nodded his understanding, and stuffed a forkful of poached egg into his mouth. He murmured a ‘thanks’ to Malfoy when he got the food down past his throat.

Malfoy accepted the gratitude with an incline of his head, and the two of them sat there enjoying their breakfast in a peaceful silence.

Well, it didn’t last long.

Malfoy seemed to remember something, because he suddenly looked up from his plate and smirked at Harry. Harry cringed a little at the glint those grey eyes gave as Malfoy gazed at him.

“Oh, I’ve almost forgot!” He set down his fork and leered at Harry. And Harry found himself bracing himself subconsciously for what Malfoy was going to say.

“I’ve found that we both own a pair of identical boxers. And to distinguish them, I spelled your initials on yours.” Malfoy declared. Harry froze, his fork held halfway towards his mouth, which was now hanging agape at the man sitting opposite him. But Malfoy didn’t seem to notice this, or he’d noticed but chose to ignore it, and went on. “Don’t need to thank me for that. I know I’m so very kind. Good taste, Potter, didn’t know you’ve had it in you.” And then Malfoy actually _winked_ at him.

Harry defrosted himself from his frozen state, dropped his fork with a loud clink sound as the metal clashed with the china, pushed away from the table, the chair making a screech in his haste, and rushed out to the balcony, where the laundries were hung awaiting to dry.

He spotted the two pairs of identical boxers almost immediately, as they were hung next to one another. He grabbed onto one, and almost groaned at the sight. Stitched across the navy blue fabric on the centre of the waistband, done in Gryffindor red and gold, was his initial. 

Whether Malfoy had intended for it to be a joke or he was really serious about the business of differentiating them, Harry didn’t want to know.

But he could make sure of one thing --

“You stay away from my laundry next time, Malfoy! And especially my _boxers!_ ” Harry all but yelled from the top of his lungs. “And give my ‘thanks’ back!” He added as an afterthought.

The only response he’d got, was the quiet snickering of Malfoy coming from inside.


End file.
